Musings of an Acolyte Remy
by The Catastrophe Waitress
Summary: Oneshot. ROMY. Remy contemplates the progression of his relationship with Rogue. Not angst. Just thoughts.


Musings of an Acolyte: Remy 

**Status:** Complete **Paring:** ROMY **Words:** 1044 **Warnings:** None **Rating:** PG

**Disclaimer:** Don't own X:Men.

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Rogue never meant it when she called him names. Not really. Remy could tell he was starting to break down those irritatingly well-constructed emotional walls she'd built around herself. He was expecting a gold star for his work anytime soon.

When he'd first moved into the mansion with Piotr, John and three overflowing bags of personal belongings, he could tell she made a point to fill every nickname with enough faux-anger and distain so as to attempt to fend off his charming smiles and flirtatious advances. Remy had never had the heart to tell her that her resistance only fascinated him all the more.

Now four months had passed and Rogue's tone was more teasing than hateful. She'd taken to calling him 'Swampy'. Remy felt it was a nice change from 'Perverted Cajun Spawn of Satan', no matter how many times Rogue told him the latter had a nice ring to it. She only ever called him ' Devil Spawn' when he pissed her off. Remy had learnt not to do that.

Unless of course the opportunity was too good to miss.

Gambit saw the strain that living in such close quarters with two-dozen other teens who she couldn't interact with properly had on Rogue. He hated the way she'd retreat to her bedroom or the roof whenever it felt like it was getting too much for her. He hated the way she'd sometimes end up with smudged eyeliner and tear-stained cheeks. He hated the way that she wouldn't let him comfort her. He especially hated the way nobody else seemed to notice or care.

After days of not-so-gentle coaxing, a dash of light flirting and a small amount of blackmail Remy managed to persuade Rogue to come out with him for a much-needed night on the town. She'd made it clear that if he made any moves on her she'd show him exactly what Mississippi girls were made of. Remy was content with that arrangement, for the time being.

That first night he'd taken her away from the suffocating energy of the mansion and the disapproving glares of Wolverine, whisked her away on his beloved motorbike, introduced her to the delights and frights of Bayville's underbelly, _his_ Bayville. He'd challenged her to several games of pool. She'd proven herself to be a resilient adversary. He'd offered to buy her one of the fruity, stylish drinks women usually seemed to love. She'd rolled her eyes and addressed the bartender herself, ordering with the ease of someone who knew what they were talking about. She'd gone to the bathroom. He'd guiltily rushed her out the back door the second she'd left the ladies room, sheepishly telling her that there was a slight possibility he may have broken some guy's nose for making a lewd comment about her. She'd acted offended. He'd seen thought her act.

After that evening they regularly went out, returning mere minutes before curfew, if they were lucky. Remy would take her out to the various bars and clubs he frequented, careful not to choose the ones where everybody was practically draped across each other for lack of space. On a couple of occasions, Rogue would show Remy _her_ Bayville, going as far as showing him the secluded coffee shops and little-known clubs she sometimes visited. What they did was a blur to Remy, but they usually had a good time, which was really all that mattered. Logan could always smell traces of alcohol on them as they came back in, but he never said anything. He was just glad that Rogue was finally smiling, no matter how many times she denied it.

The Cajun had discovered the Rogue got quite talkative after she had a few drinks in her system. He remembered sitting in a dark, smoky booth in the corner of a dark, smoky bar and being informed by Rogue that she sometimes worried that he would just leave her. He remembered wrapping an arm around her shoulders, careful not to make skin contact, and pulling her close to him. The irony of the fact that she'd been the one to quickly scoot out of the booth to get a drink of water never escaped him.

They'd fallen into a comfortable routine, if it could be called that. She'd sit with him in the mornings outside in the grounds of the mansion – neither of them ate breakfast – and cast disapproving glances at his cigarette whilst he tried to amuse and entertain her any way he could so that she was able to get through the day a little easier. In the evenings they'd go out on the town, or just stay in and do whatever. Naturally, seeing as they were both hot-blooded southerners who never stood down from a fight, it wasn't always as smooth as that. They were know for having raging fights just for the sake of it, but the root of the arguments were never any more serious than Remy commenting on how much make-up Rogue used, or Rogue hiding Remy's cigarettes and lighter.

Being around John and the many slim paperbacks that fuelled his addiction to romance novels somehow had a strange effect on the Cajun's approach to emotions and the L word – call it sensitivity by osmosis – and Remy found himself sometimes seeing himself with Rogue, doing the exact same things they were now, forty of fifty years down the line. He imagined they'd turn out as one of those ancient, white-haired couples, bent over a zimmer-frame made for two, that always seemed to bicker and argue whilst managing to maintain a constant look of adoration in their eyes whenever they spoke or looked at the other person.

Although he had gotten to the point where this train of thoughts amused rather than terrified him, Remy still had enough intelligence – and pride – not to voice his views. Whilst they were much closer than they'd once been, Remy had an inkling that Rogue would probably have no inhibitions about punching him should he say anything that called for such an action.

On the odd occasion that Remy caught her of guard, or she was feeling particularly sentimental, Rogue would admit grudgingly that she liked to think of them as friends.

Remy knew they were something more.

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**Thanks for reading and reviewing (subtle hint). Musings from John and Piotr coming soon-ish.**


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